There Will Be Blood
by Bleeding Star Goddess
Summary: LVHP. SEQUEL to Everything You Are He is deadly. He is cruel. He has no mercy. He found beauty in their utter and total destruction. AU, Dark!Harry, Master/Slave


**Title:** There Will be Blood  
**Chapter:** 1/?  
**Author:** Bleeding Star Goddess and can be contacted by email at  
**Rating:** Mature  
**Pairings:** Lord Voldemort/Harry  
** Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Warnings:** This story will contain situations of torture, non-consensual intercourse, relationships of the homosexual and heterosexual nature, slavery, and character mental instability, as well as depictions of gore, character death and exhibition will also take place in this story.  
**Summary:** (Sequel to Everything You Are) He is deadly. He is cruel. He has no mercy. He found beauty in their utter and total destruction.

**Author notes** if you want to understand this fic you will in fact have to read Everything You Are. It's a short one-shot.

0000

**One - The Blood in My Veins**

Seeking, searching, pleading honey-brown eyes looked up at him. They begged him for forgiveness, for recognition, for understanding. They were such thoroughly shattered eyes and he found her beautiful. She sobbed, bloody fingers reaching for his own and in humor and in fascination he held them, wrapped them up in his warm grip, and was even tender when he took them. She smelt of metal, tasted of copper, and was covered in filth and the magical-residue all dark curses left behind.

Around them, those who had caused the dark-residue to practically fuse with her skin sneered and jeered at her broken frame. Masks of white and silver had been removed so familiar and foreign faces gazed at her and left her feeling empty and alone. They had brought her low; brought her to her knees in screams and blood on the cold-stone floor, but they did not break her. They had amassed around her like a surge of black ink; they had fired cruel but wholly physical curses on her body, draining her, but not yet killing her. They were not allowed to kill her, Master had seen to that. Those simpletons had been cruel, but his Master was crueler. His Master ordered him in a soft hiss to walk over to the pretty bauble, to speak with her, and to let his face _remind_ her of the sin she and the Light had done.

Without question he walked out from the shadows behind his Master's throne and across the stone floor to her huddled form. She had been crumpled on the ground and had just been released from a curse that had snapped every bone in her body and then reset it. He waited until those pain-heavy rimmed eyes turned to him, regarded his crimson mask and burgundy robes. When he had her focusing only on him, when those eyes shifted from hazed pain to fear of what he was, who he could be, and why he had a crimson mask, he removed said mask, making sure only she could see his face. The mass of the Death Eaters still knew nothing of him. Her scream and gasp brought the others pleasure. He had induced a reaction their curses hadn't and couldn't achieve.

Even when the subordinates had captured her three weeks ago in Diagon Alley - heading to the tailor for her bridesmaid dress - she had not shown even a fraction of the terror and the anguish she expressed when he had removed his mask. But her horror brought him no pleasure; the seeming approval of the underlings brought him no joy. Her screams did not make him jeer or cackle. He only knew this girl's name because Master had told him it and that she felt pain at the sight of his face, her reasons for why he did not know nor care about. He did not know this glass, merely, that as he gazed at her, he saw her as a pretty broken thing.

She had been useful, like a glass. She had been filled with information and the underlings had drained it out of her, sipping and gulping with hungry mouths. They left her just as an empty glass and those boorish underlings had no appreciation for the potential an empty glass contained. So they chipped and the cracked at her, but she did not break. No, he broke her; Master had had him break her. The bloody and quivering fingers that gripped his own was nothing more than a shard that clung to his skin.

"H-Harry?" she whimpered so softly only he could hear her, moving to crawl up on her knees.

He said nothing, merely tucked a blood-laden lock of hair behind what was left of her ear. He knew the name she called him, but it was not his name.

Seeking, searching, pleading honey-brown eyes looked into his own and realized who he was, **what** he was. Those eyes then filled with endless tears as they begged for forgiveness at the horrible crime she and the others had committed. He smiled then, both cruel and kind as he pressed his fingers to her lips and shook his head. A broken sob pushed past her lips as fatter tears of a much crueler pain slid down her cheeks. He continued to smile before he kissed her grime and sweat covered brow, and another broken sob came from her lips.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, clenching her eyes and tightening her grip.

Such a pretty broken glass she was. His fingertips that were not caught up in her grip started to glow the green of his eyes, the somber light wrapping and engulfing his fingers.

"Goodbye Hermione," he whispered as he smiled before he pressed those deadly fingers to her lips. She slumped down, dead in his arms, shed tears wetting his robes.

He fixed her hair, and with a handkerchief he wiped her face clean, not smiling, not jeering, just solemn and bored. He shut her soaked dead eyes. He removed her grip and put his mask back in place before he stood up, the Death Eaters still unaware of who he was. The room was finally bathed in glorious silence. He closed his eyes and relished in that quiet blanket before he snapped them open and turned to look up at his Master. The corpse of the pretty broken glass lay at his feet. The crimson orbs he adored gazed at him with pride and possession. He took pleasure in that look. His Master understood what he had done, the subtlety in his cruelty. His Master understood that his actions were crueler than any curse.

Another hiss and he stepped over the body and came up to the throne, not kneeling before his Master but rather taking his position once more behind the throne. A long chuckle issued from his Master as he gazed out at the witless mass.

"I'm sure you're all curious as to what you just saw," his Master made the smallest twitch of his finger and he came forward upon that order, standing beside his Master's throne. "I would like you all to meet my assassin."

0000

A much longed for sequel. And yes, I will repeat, if you want to understand this fic you will have to read Everything You Are, it's a short oneshot.

Hope you enjoy.


End file.
